During her first night with Reginald, she’d propped herself up for a better angle of attack and had been unable to suppress a yelp at the pain. He’d initially mistaken it for a sound of pleasure then had laughed at her terse explanation of the injury and meandering justification why she hadn’t had it checked out. “Mitch, you get better every hour,” he said, and she scowled at him. “What, hasn’t anyone ever told you how delightful contradictions can be?”
To Reginald, Mitch’s contradictions and ambiguities were sexy, inescapable fact, but Abby had no room for these differences. The data in sociology represented great aggregations of individuals, and lines were thrown through those forests of points to put the pretense of order to something disorderly by nature. These distributions hosted me
